


The Sky in Your Eyes

by agarwoods



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Mystery, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Psychological, Reader-Insert, Romance, Spoilers, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agarwoods/pseuds/agarwoods
Summary: Secrets: they have the power to either bring people closer together or pull them infinitely apart.Seven’s forgotten past is catching up with him at an alarming pace, while V has a deadly deed to complete. Yoosung is sick, and Jaehee has a decision to make. It also turns out that Jumin isn’t such a prude. As for Zen? His biggest fears are about to come true.From even beyond the grave, it seems that Rika’s presence still hasn’t disappeared.All eight of you are different as can be, but, as most people do, you have unbelievable secrets, and what’s done in the dark will eventually come out in the light.Thus, you can’t help but wonder: since when did you start to become the keeper of secrets for a game that you have all been playing? Exactly how far are you willing to go to protect these secrets and the ones you love?





	1. Magic Trick

When you see someone for the first time, do you think that’s all there is to them?

Is it the way that they are dressed that is indicative of how much money they have? Is the way that they speak an accurate reflection of how much education they have received? Or is it the little things that they do when they think that no one is looking what determines the kind of person that they are?

Given things at face value, is it not the first impressions that matter the most?

In an ideal world, this would be the key to determine hearts. Their hearts would be displayed on their sleeves, and their intentions in their eyes. It would be all too simple to determine whether someone is good or bad, right or wrong, innocent or guilty, with the silent meeting of your eyes.

In an ideal world, there would be no lies or deceit, only truths and honesty.

The irony stings when you realize that these had not originally been your ideals. Instead, they have been passed down onto you through the influence of another whose presence has long since departed from this world. 

Maybe this is also why it has become hard to forget her. Rika’s presence has seeped into your skin, into your flesh, injected itself into your bloodstream and lodged itself deep within your heart. Even over a year later, you still find it hard to believe that she is dead because you can still feel her presence everywhere you go. You cannot forget her even if you wanted to. This is how deeply rooted in your life she had been; even if you wanted to deny it, you wouldn’t be able to.

“ _Watch carefully, I’ll disappear right before your eyes and come back._ ” 

The words are akin something that a magician will tell you on stage while performing the vanishing trick. Rika had been no different. She was a jack of all trades, a master of tricks. She had the power to make you believe that something wasn’t there only to have it appear when it was already too late. But in that same line of thought, she also had the capability to paint the world a pretty picture even when you knew better.

Maybe this is why it has become hard for _him_ to forget her. 

You think that it is certainly plausible, and more. He had called her his sun, his sky, his everything, and it was true — _is_ still true. Anyone could see that from even miles away. Rika had a way to make anyone and everyone fall in love with her.

Like the beautiful sky, the embodiment of freedom, carrying the peace and serenity of the world with her words. She had been black and white, red down to violet, the mother who readily accepted all of the colours beneath her. 

The thing about the sky is that it is the governor of the world. From the unending galaxies beyond the earth’s atmosphere and the earth itself, of everything in existence, the king is the sky. This is where the kingdom of heaven lies. This is where God makes his domain and watches over everyone.

All turbulences, theoretically speaking, is under the sky’s jurisdiction. However, to say that everything is under its control would probably be an overstatement. At times, the brush strokes will falter. What would otherwise be a beautiful portrait would be splattered with ink, marred with imperfection and there would be no way to recover. 

The colour of the storm is grey and angry, and coats the entire world in adversity. Even with the serene sky reigning above, there will always be rebels below. Rebels of politics, of nature, of morality and humanity, and of love.

But the truth of the matter is, there really is no way to run away from the sky, no matter how hard you try.

The bitter acceptance lodges itself deep in your throat, sinks all the way to the pits of your stomach, and causes you falter. You close your eyes, and set down the cup of steaming coffee.

You can try to replicate the lost image, but lines will jagger where they once were perfect and even. Strokes will be too dark when they were otherwise effortless and light. Shades will be too light or too dark in attempt to copy the feeling of happiness originally portrayed. Instead, it will now be bitter, bitter, bitter.

So rather than try to fix what cannot be fixed, perhaps, the only thing left to do is start over. 

The brush is dipped into ink once again and—

“ _Flight G26A to Incheon International Airport is now boarding. Please proceed to the designated gate with your boarding passes ready._ ”

—ink meets canvas.

Strokes have begun to reform.

You rise, the small carry-on in your right hand, and your boarding pass in your left. The cup of coffee is left discarded on the small table of the airport cafe, foam collected to the side, the artwork now intangible and evaporated into nothing. 

Heaven is watching, but, for now, you only need to hide when lightning strikes.


	2. Remembering Rain

The last time that you had been in Seoul, the sky had been dark and bleary. It rained that entire night nearly sixteen months ago when you arrived at the airport with only a small suitcase of clothes and a backpack concealing mementos that you couldn’t bear to part with. At the time, you didn’t think that you would ever return to your home city, so you took what you could as if to remind yourself that yes, once upon a time, you had been happy. That yes, once upon a time, it hadn’t been so complicated. And that yes, there was a reason why you did what you did.

Sixteen months later, the sky is still dark upon your arrival, but it is no longer raining. The light drizzle that you witnessed on the windowpanes of your airplane have dried up now, evaporated into thin air, and have caused a slight chill amongst the humidity of the city. It is an odd contradiction, one where you can smell the lingering aftermath of rain, taste the fragrance of the evening breeze on your tongue, and yet at the same time, feel the wrath that the sun has imparted unto the rain — the one that makes your skin feel sticky and humid. 

It is suffocating, all in all, but you know that the reason why your heart constricts so painfully isn’t entirely because of the weather.

Incheon to Seoul takes about an hour, but it feels much faster due to your conversation with the cab driver. He is an older man, in his 30’s or 40’s, with a family of five including himself, and he keeps a photograph of them hanging beneath his rearview mirror. The age lines around his mouth and eyes are evidence of his fatigue from such a demanding job, but when he talks about his family, his eyes drip with honey and the thought makes you smile as you lean against the car frame.

“They sound like lovely children, mister.” You smile slightly, fond for the affections of a stranger. “You must miss them a lot.”

“Yeah, I do,” he admits a bit sadly, but then his eyes glance to the photograph and with gentle fingers, he holds it carefully, briefly, before his eyes dart back to the road ahead. “But I do it for them, so I don’t mind at all.” After a moment, he adds, “You must have missed your family too, being away for so long.” 

You smile, and it takes a moment, but you answer quietly, “Yes… I missed them.”

As the cab driver glances into the mirror, the only glimpse that he’s able to make of you is one that is hidden by the shadows of the overhead tunnel.

The smile on your lips does not meet your eyes.

—

In the darkness of the night, the banquet hall is alive and thriving. Behind iron gates lies an oasis for the rich and privileged — a party held for a noble cause on the surface, but you know better. It is not so much an event for the unfortunate as it is an excuse for the rich and famous to mingle, to build relationships and business deals on the sideline.

“Is this the right place, miss?” the driver asks, looking unsure, but you simply nod your head.

“Yes, please wait here for a little bit, mister. I will be back.” 

The cab driver bites his lower lip in a wry connotation, still feeling unsure despite the smile that you send him, and you can feel his gaze on your form as you step out from the door. He doesn’t ask, but you know that he’s curious, wondering exactly who you are and what right you have at this party. You don’t blame him for it, really, because considering that it’s such a lavish event, you are certainly underdressed and unfit for the part in your simple yet comfortable attire consisting of joggers and a cardigan, when everyone else is dressed appropriately befitting for a high-society event. 

Regardless, he does as he is told, and you walk towards the guard at the gate who eyes you skeptically upon approach. You smile at him, in the way that you had been taught growing up, and give him your name. It doesn’t register immediately for the guard and rejection is on his lips, but luckily for you, in the background, you catch a familiar face. Or maybe it is that person who has noticed you first, for they walk towards the gates immediately, standing on the opposite side of you.

“Miss, you’re here.” The other man says, looking surprised, but also relieved to see you.

“You look well, Secretary Park.”

Watching your exchange, the guard looks on confused until the older man waves his hand and tells him to let you in. 

“She’s with me,” Secretary Park says, and that is all that he really needs to before the guard signals for his partner to open the gate and let you through. You bow your head thankfully at him as you pass, but otherwise don’t say anything further to him.

“Did you just arrive?” the older gentleman beside you asks, and when you nod your head, he sighs. “You should’ve let me know. I would have come to pick you up personally.”

“There’s no need for that,” you remark. “My cab is still waiting anyway — I’m only here to say hello to grandfather.”

Although he still looks worried, your grandfather’s secretary nods his head and begins to escort you into the hall. 

“You looked like you were heading out,” you state, remembering the surprised way that the older man looked earlier. He had been on his phone when he noticed you, but had immediately set his device away upon approach.

“Oh… it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll show you to where your grandfather is first.” He smiles at you, but you just shake your head. “You can go back to your business, Secretary Park, I’ll find my way from here.”

He still looks hesitant, but you shoo him away with your hands, a playful but sincere look on your face, and he finally relents.

“The chairman’s seat is near the front. He was speaking with Minister Oh earlier, towards the left veranda, so you might have better luck there.”

You absorb his words quickly, and after you shoo him away once again, he finally leaves. It doesn’t take you long to spot your grandfather, still in conversation with Minister Oh, but along the way, you overhear curious words and curious glances sent your way. It is only natural that they would be curious, you tell yourself, if not due to the clothing that you are wearing, then due to the presence of an unexpected guest. 

Although it is rather unnerving being so aware of their prying gazes, you still try to ignore them as best as you can, as you make your way towards your grandfather.

You fold your hands across your lower stomach and bow to him in greeting, and he turns immediately upon noticing your presence. “Hello, grandfather,” you say. “I have returned.”

“You’re back.” His eyes glance over your body, and with a frown, he says, “You’ve gotten thin. Have you not been living well?”

The affection in his voice, even in front of an important guest, makes you laugh softly. “With your patronage, how could I have not been living well, grandfather?”

Although your words are sweet, the frown still remains on his lips. “If you have just returned, then you should have gone straight home. What are you doing here?”

“I came to pay my respects to grandfather first. Surely you won’t fault me for doing so? It’s been quite some time, after all…” 

Such charming words makes Minister Oh chuckle, as he sends your grandfather a look. “She’s got you there, Chairman Jung. You have raised her well.”

“Spoiled her, surely.” Your grandfather corrects, though there is a twinkle of adoration in his eyes.

The corner of your lips twitch, but, with a composed expression, you turn to face Minister Oh completely as you also bow to him in respect. “It certainly has been a long time, Minister Oh. I hope that you have been doing well.”

“Yes, quite well,” he laughs, and the lines on the tails of his eyes stretch, indication of his joy. “Yeonji gave birth recently, so I have now become a great-grandfather.”

“Congratulations then, Minister Oh. I am sorry that I could not attend to Yeonji’s wedding, but please do send her my regards.” 

Minister Oh nods his head, and the three of you continue with idle chatter for a brief while before you remember about the driver waiting for you.

“Have Secretary Park drive you back.” Your grandfather states, and before you can even get another word in, he has already taken his phone out to call for his assistant. When he is finished with the phone call, he turns back to you. “You have only returned to Korea, so make sure to rest. Come by the family house tomorrow morning; your parents will be pleased to know that you have returned.”

You nod your head and politely excuse yourself from the two older men, complying with your grandfather’s wishes. As you turn to leave, from a distance, another guest in attendance just so happens to turn his head. Through the abundance of people, he is still able to catch a glimpse of your profile, one that moves quickly and abruptly out of his sight, but the glimpse is all that is needed to freeze him to the spot. The words of his companions by his side get lost in his ears as his gaze darts to and fro in effort to spot your figure once again. Only when another guest moves out of way goes he spot your silhouette again, this time, farther from view. Even though Jumin knows that this must be a trick of the mind, perhaps a prank from his subconscious, the words of a departure abruptly leave his lips and his feet begin to move.

In the background, he can hear Jaehee calling out to him, but he disregards her pleas as he sets aside his flute of champagne to a server collecting used flutes. 

It gets harder and harder to track your shadow. Through the bright lights of the banquet hall, you have already settled out of view and into the darkness of the premises. Before he even knows it, Jumin is already at the entrance of the banquet hall, yet again look left and right, any and which way that you could have gone, but you are no where in sight.

“Mr. Han!” Jaehee calls, her voice closing in on him.

He knows it is a trick, an illusion brought forth by his subconscious. There is no other plausible explanation as to why he would see you, here of all places, when there is no reason why you should be.

Feeling bitter and disappointed, Jumin turns around and heads back to the party. Although he is surrounded by people for the rest of the evening, his mind is elsewhere, unable to focus on those in front of him, instead haunted by someone from the past. 

When he heads home that night, he instructs for Driver Kim to take a detour route, through a neighbourhood that he hasn’t been to in some time. Driver Kim doesn’t need to be told, but when he approaches a certain house, he slows the vehicle and rests along the curb. The lights are out as usual, but in the rearview mirror, he sees his young boss stare through the window. Jumin watches silently, almost as his gaze would be enough to turn the lights back on, and the silhouette of an old friend would appear through the window curtains, as if time could revert and bring back what was once there.

Anyone would think otherwise, but Driver Kim would know better: his boss is not so heartless as he seems.

“Feeling nostalgic, young Mr. Han?” 

“Nostalgic?” Jumin repeats, pondering, but after a moment, he settles on his answer. “The past is in the past; there is no use to reminisce.”

In spite of those words, it takes a strained effort for him to finally tear his gaze away and instruct Driver Kim to head on home. Neither of the two comment on the fact that Jumin’s response isn’t really an answer. 

—

In another part of Seoul, near the outskirts of the city, is where you are currently located. 

“You don’t have to wait with me, Secretary Park. I… don’t intend on going home tonight,” you tell the older man, but he only smiles in return.

“I should let my wife know then.” 

He doesn’t ask, and you’re grateful that he doesn’t, but at the same time, you know that this is not right. This is madness, you know. This is an obsession. But even though you know that these are shameful feelings, you cannot stop yourself.

You look away, muttering a quiet thank you for Secretary Park’s aid, and you settle on the slightly damp edge of the walkway, opposite of a familiar house, one that is equally as empty as your own. 

The trunk of Secretary Park’s car opens up, and he pulls out a small throw — evidence that he is used to late-night stakes. 

“I’ll go get us some coffee,” he says once handing you the throw. 

He doesn’t know why you are doing what you are doing, but he knows better than to ask questions to someone who is still searching for answers. 

When he is gone, having left by foot to the nearest late-night cafe, you reach into your pocket and dial a familiar number. Your gaze never once leaves the house in front of you as you hold the device to your ear. the seconds pass with the dial tone before they are eventually stopped by a recorded voice.

“The person that you are trying to reach is currently not available and their voicemail inbox is full. Please try again later.”

You exhale softly, and hang up the call, letting the your phone fall into your lap as you pull the throw around your shoulders.

Seoul City is still the same as you remember it. The sky is still dark and bleary, with the aftertaste of rain in the air. Your only possessions of value are still in the same suitcase and duffle bag as before. The house that you remember so vividly in your memories is still here, behind white picket gates with a quiet yard — modern in architectural design, but so, so familiar.

The only thing that has changed is time, and you don’t know whether you should rejoice in the fact that the person that you are waiting for is still unchanging — or lament in the fact that he still hasn’t changed. 

V’s phone number is still the same, but, you suppose, it doesn’t really matter when he never picks up anyway.

But still, you continue to sit there, on the walkway that has mostly dried now, unable to help remembering rain.

“Jihyun… where are you?” _I’m here waiting for you._


	3. Artificial Way of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, this story is loosely based on canon Mystic Messenger, primarily the events that happen in Jumin’s route with everyone else’s, to a lesser degree, also interconnected to the plot of The Sky in Your Eyes. I am taking liberties with this story, so not everything will be 100% accurate to canon. 
> 
> A lot happens in this chapter, so it might feel all over the place and I apologize for that in advance. But keep in mind that we are still only in the beginning of the story so there is still much to unravel. Also, it is only roughly edited —I've stared at this chapter for God knows how long and... I figured if I don't push it out, this fic will never be updated— so if there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out! But, nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Growing up, you had very limited desires. There was nothing that you lacked, and if you did, then it came to you in only a matter of moments. With the wave of a hand, or an absentminded implication, any and all of your desires were brought forth. For most people, complications regarding material possessions were their only concerns, while complications of the heart were another — neither of which you suffered from. The stories of the rich and famous being unhappy did not apply to you nor to your family. 

Your mother was a beloved woman, well-educated and well-bred. Your father treated her well, and you revered her like a goddess. Her only worries were maintaining the household, but with both husband and child well-raised, how many troubles could she truly have? She was sweet and compassionate, the kind of mother who would awaken early in the morning to make your breakfast and meals for school or work. Then, when you’d come home, she’d greet you with a warm smile and ask you how your day had been. 

Your father was a third-generation businessman, frequently going back and forth here and there, but he always made sure to come home for dinner. He would often leave the country for work related matters, but he made sure to call home every night to inquire about your day, and then spent the rest of the phone call with your mother. He was doting and made sure to make small cracks in his tight schedules to attend to you and your mother whether it was something as minute as a school performance or major as a hospital stay.

The house you grew up in was large, unnecessary for a small family of four, but you’d never never been aware of the spaciousness of it because every inch and every corner of your house was filled with love and warmth. 

It still is the same as you remember it. The walls are still the same creamy colour, with accent furniture in key with the theme of the house. It is warm and inviting, and there is the scent of a home-cooked meal that wafts through the air, bringing nostalgia back to mind. Cutting through that nostalgia is the distinct sound of laughter, meters away just before your entrance into the dining room, and you instinctively freeze. 

Despite what should have otherwise been a happy childhood, you cannot remember the last time that you have heard laughter so genuine, so carefree, in this household. The sounds bounce from wall to wall in a cheerful sing-song sort of dance, so foreign and unknown to you.

You find your answer soon enough when the housekeep leads you into the dining room, pushing the french doors open completely. Recognition is aflutter, both on your behalf, and on those seated around the dining table. There is a clank of silverware as your mother promptly rises from her seat and the feet of her chair scrape lightly against the marble flooring.

“You’ve returned?!” she exclaims, rushing towards you with her arms wide only to wrap them tightly around you in a motherly embrace. 

The rest of the room is still in shock. Quite frankly, even you are still startled. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for the reunion on your plane ride back, but you hadn’t been able to fully imagine the scene before you. Even if you had thought of the best and worst-case scenarios, standing before your family now, you find yourself still at a loss of what to do and what to say. 

Despite your hesitation at such a warm welcome, your mother pays no mind to your reaction and she gently releases you from her grasp. She looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, and then scans your body as if you assess your current health. 

“You’ve gotten thin.” She frowns, then, leading you by the hand, seats you at an empty chair. She throws over her shoulder to a maid waiting nearby, “Prepare an extra set for your miss.”

Truth be told, you are thankful for her reaction. Despite everything that has happened, everything that you have done, she is still your mother through-and-through, and you are still her daughter, through-and-through. You are helpless in the face of her, walls breaking down, and you smile ruefully at her. 

“I’m sorry it has taken me so long,” you apologize, to her, your father, your grandfather — officially, casting away all pride that you might have persisted in once before. “But I have returned.”

At the head of the table, your grandfather nods his head approvingly. He had been expecting your appearance today at the main family house, so between he and your parents, he is obviously the more casual about it. To the right of your grandfather seats your dad, regarding you carefully. You stare back; this time, unrelenting, and unable to discard your pride, but it is a conversation between the eyes and perhaps sensing this, your father’s shoulders deflate. He looks away first, but nevertheless settles for an nod. 

You both know that there is not much else to discuss, and especially not in front of your mother. 

“When did you return?” she asks, her eyes bright and vivid. 

“I came back last night.”

“Why didn’t you come home straight away?”

“I was the one who told her to rest, and that it was okay for her to come in the morning,” your grandfather answers in your place.

“Does this mean you’re not planning on staying here?” she inquires further, worry in her eyes. “How long are you staying? You’re not thinking of leaving again, are you?”

Truth be told, you haven’t decided on your plan yet. You’d thought of your reunion on the flight back, but now in the face of your reality, you don’t know how to respond. 

“I… have not decided yet.” 

In order to make your decision, you would have to find an answer for your current predicament — which is, to say the least, also not something that you can decide on your own.

You fall silent for a moment as the realization of helplessness spurs forth once again in your mind; you narrowly resist the tired exhale that attempts to leave your mouth.

Nevertheless, it is not a “yes”, and so your mother frowns, looking heartbroken.

“Won’t you at least stay here until you’ve made your decision?” she pleads. “It’s been so long, after all…”

It’s such an easy task to stay at home until you make your decision. But it is not one that you can abide to. You look away, unable to meet her forlorn gaze any longer. “I… actually brought my stuff back to my house in Cheongdam-dong… I just… It has always been more convenient that way.” 

You can still feel her gaze on you, and so, in order to change the subject, you finally address the male seated beside you. He had been quiet all this time so it had been easy to ignore him, but certainly not appropriate. “It’s been a while, Jumin. How have you been?”

He keeps his face calm and collected, and nods at you politely. “I have been well, thank you.”

He doesn’t say much else aside from the curt response. Part of you wonders if he is still angry, but you know that it is well deserved, and so you don’t pester him any further. Thankfully, one of the maids returns with your breakfast and you distract yourself with the food. 

The rest of your meal is in idle chatter. Mostly it is your mother who keeps up the happy atmosphere, diffusing what would otherwise be awkward easily with her charm. She doesn’t ask about things that she knows you aren’t prepared to answer, and so she settles for simple conversation. She tells you about the changes in Seoul, both the people and the city itself, and the state of your family in your absence. Everyone has been doing well, is what you are able to surmise.

After breakfast, Jumin is the first to depart, as he says that he has a meeting soon after heading into work. He had come by today to visit since it had been a long time since he had paid his respects to your parents and grandfather, but something about the mirth in your grandfather’s face tells you that there’s more to it than just a simple visit. You make a mental note to inquire about it later, but otherwise follow your childhood friend as he exits from your house.

Perhaps it is because it has been a long time, but the otherwise moderate trek from your dining room to your front entrance is slower than it should be. Jumin’s pace is casual, leisurely almost, and so you match his pace.

You hadn’t been prepared for reuniting with your family, and even less so with Jumin. Yet he seems to find no fault with you, because he has been pleasant with you throughout your entire interactions thus far. Maybe it’s because you are the one feeling guilty and your guilt has made you sensitive. You’ve known him since you were children; Jumin’s not the type to say he likes something if he doesn’t, or to say he dislikes something that he doesn’t.

To save both you and him from the impending awkwardness, you tell him, “You don’t have to do this… Pretending that nothing has changed… My mother and father will understand that you are not in the wrong.”

For a moment, you are led to believe that he will accept the suggestion. He’s silent for the most part, with a thoughtful look on his face. Jumin has never been an easy person to read, but perhaps more than ever, you find yourself unsure of what he is thinking.

“I thought about it,” he replies after a long while. His voice is soft and gentle, with no trace of the vitriol that you’re expecting. “What would happen if I ran into you? Should I be angry at you and say nasty things to you, or should I ignore you and forget about our memories together?”

Either of which, you think that it’s well-deserved. You’re in no place to protest otherwise, so you remain silent. 

“But I thought I saw you yesterday, and my feet instinctively ran after you,” he says, smiling slightly, perhaps upon the memories brought to his mind. “I could tell you that you don’t matter anymore, but that would be a lie. Seeing you today, I am happy to know that you have returned.” 

“Why?” you ask. You have been friends with him long enough to know that his trust doesn’t come easily and it is true that you had foolishly broken it. 

“Do you remember how, back in high school, my father and I disagreed on the sale of my mother’s resort?” 

You nod your head. Back then, his mother’s resort in Busan had started declining in profits. Jumin and his mother weren’t particularly close, but it was one of the last possessions he had related to her, and so he adamantly protested its sale even if it meant a loss for the company. He didn’t say this to his father of course — why should Jumin care about the woman who abandoned them? — but you and Jihyun knew that he wasn’t so heartless.

Jumin and his father didn’t get into disagreements often, but this was a matter that he couldn’t let go of so easily and so, in protest, he ran away from home for a week. He refused to return to the main house for the entire week and stayed at his father’s hotel. You and Jihyun had joined him every day after school to keep him company. 

He had his reasons even if he couldn’t say them aloud. 

In the end, his father agreed to keep the resort if it meant that much to Jumin, but if the resort did not turn a profit in the next five years, then they would sell it. He ended up working on trying re-structure the facility as a side project, and within in two years, there had been a substantial growth. 

“V reminded me of this,” he says. “He said that you must have left for a reason of your own. I want to believe that.” That it wasn’t just a simple whim, that you hadn’t abandoned him — _them_ — just because you wanted to.

But… Just like Jumin, you are also unable to say the words aloud. 

Perhaps able to sense that you have no intentions of telling him why, he gives you a small but gentle smile. “I have to head to work, but, let’s have dinner some time.” 

You’re only able to comply; at the very least, he deserves this. You nod your head, and watch as he departs from your house, watching as he heads down the steps of your entrance and towards the sleek black car awaiting him. Only when he is gone do you turn on your heels, back into your house, and towards your grandfather’s office.

He’s already expecting you, so when you knock on the door, he immediately grants you entrance. 

You had briefly already spoken the previous night, and your mother had already established your well-being over breakfast, so the conversation with your grandfather is easy and straight to the point. He offers you a seat across from him, but you decline, choosing to stand since you don’t intend on talking for long.

“Were you able to find any success?” he asks. 

Sadly, you shake your head. He seems disappointed in your answer, but nevertheless puts on a smile. Whether it is for your sake or his, you are unable to tell. He doesn’t fault you for your failure, and instead praises you for your hard effort.

“It must have been hard on you,” he says. “But, since you have already returned, then that is enough. At the very least, it will be good enough to simply keep them in our prayers.”

Seeing that you have not responded, and perhaps the guilt is written all over your face, he says your name softly. “It happened a long time ago. Do not feel burdened by it anymore; you hadn’t been involved in the first place. It will be fine for you to move on with your life.”

You know that it’s not a suggestion so much as it is an order. He’s only looking out for you, and you suppose that you owe him this much. 

You nod your head, and just before he dismisses you, he says, “In any case, it is good to have you back. Your mother missed you dearly, so you should spend some time with her. Take it easy; when you are ready to go back to work, you can let me know and I’ll arrange things for you at the gallery.”

Once again, you comply with his orders, and finally leave the office. When you do, you find your father advancing from a few doors down, just exiting from another room. Your eyes meet, and immediately, your body tenses. Since when it became an instinct, you’re not sure, but your father is also used to the reaction. He sighs softly, and as he passes you, he tells you, “Come with me.”

You’d much rather avoid him altogether if you had the choice, but you don’t. Not when it comes to blood, and so, you follow him silently. He leads you into the library at the very end of the hall, secluded and away from other ears, and makes sure to lock the door when it is just you and him.

“How were your endeavours?” he asks, similar to the way your grandfather had inquired earlier.

“Do you really not know?” you retort, unable to help the surge of vitriol that slips through your tone. 

“Judging by the way you have returned, I can only assume that it was a fruitless attempt.” He sighs, and you think that he sounds just as tired — and disappointed — as both you and your grandfather. Yet his next words carry no remorse; there is no apology. “How long are you going to be angry for? I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but you need to at least understand that it had been the right thing to do.”

“For whom?” you promptly counter, disbelief on your face and in your voice. 

He doesn’t give you a reply for your answer; maybe he doesn’t have one. Or maybe he doesn’t care enough to explain himself. He only says, “I promised your mother a long time ago that when you returned, I would not do anything to upset you. These doors are always open for you — this is your home. But I will not discuss this subject with you anymore in the future. It is already over; don’t go uselessly searching into something that has already passed.”

“So I should just turn a blind eye? Did you even think about the consequences? What did you think would happen once I found out? Once _mom_ found out? Did you think that you could just cover the sun with one hand and say that it’s not sunny out?” 

“But I did,” your father calmly interjects, and you’re promptly taken aback by the realization that it’s true. For the better half of your life, you had lived under his illusion — that you had been a perfect family, with perfect people, and perfect lives, in a perfect little world.

“Right,” you mutter, suddenly feeling tired, and drained of energy, and helpless. “I’m the stupid one for not knowing better.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that—“

“No, you didn’t,” you concede. “But the fact still stands: you’ve been keeping the truth from me — us — in the dark for so long and no one’s ever going to know the truth. You succeeded, so congratulations.”

You turn on your heel, intending on leaving once again when he calls out to you.

“Your mother still doesn’t know why you left,” he says. “I told her that you needed a break after what happened with Jihyun. It’s best if you also tell her the same thing.”

The thread of your patience rip at the seams and you promptly whirl around, angry at the shamelessness of your father. “You’re blaming Jihyun? After everything that he had gone through, everything he had done—” 

“You need to understand. It isn’t that simple.”

“Then explain it to me!” you cry, incredulous that even after all this time, he is still making excuses.

“You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

You should have known better than to have hope. Your shoulder deflate, and if possible, you feel your heart twist in ways that you never thought possible. The disappointment seeps all the way down to your stomach and you realize that this too, is nothing new. 

You exhale shakily, as if letting go of such trivial feelings, and bring your feet together as you bow formally towards your father. “Take care, father.”

You won’t be coming back. This place hasn’t been home in a long time. 

You don’t wait for his permission before you promptly turn on your heel and exit through the office doors, eager to get out of this place you once called home. Your mother catches a glimpse of your departing back when you pass the kitchen and she calls out to you, 

“I’m sorry, mom,” you apologize. “I can’t stay.”

“You just came back.”

“I know…” But you can’t stay here. You can’t pretend that everything is perfect, all sunshines and rainbows anymore. Ignorance is not something that you can pretend to be. “Another time… Whenever you want, mom, let’s go out for a meal together.”

Just as you had previously done before, you bow towards your mother formally, and promptly make your exit out of the large house.

When you finally find your way out, the sun is still rising high into the sky. It is still early in the morning, and so there is the gardener tending to the flower beds. Beside his feet lay cut-off stems of imperfect flowers in an otherwise perfect garden. 

There’s a bitterness that runs through you, and your hands shake by your side. 

Once upon a time, you also fit into the grandeur of calculated perfection. Only, you have learnt better. It is an artificial way of living, and it is a life that you do not seek.

Thus, you steel your resolve once more, set on leaving the compounds of your family home yet again, and never look back. 

Yet deep in the recesses of your mind, you cannot help but wonder: is it you who has changed, or those inside? 

—

**_Two years earlier._ **

Light music plays in the background. You hear the distant sound of chatter amongst employees and customers alike, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee is strong in the air. You have always enjoyed this type of atmosphere, and yet… 

You swallow hard, and stare at the couple sitting in front of you. The sun shines down on them from the open windows and it’s hard not to look at them in envy. They look perfect for each other.

Beneath the table, your hands fidget in your lap. You feel so foolish for wearing such an excessive outfit when the girl in front of you is dressed modestly and still manages to outshine you. 

“Won’t you please consider this?” she asks you, voice honey and milk.

“…Why me?” It’s difficult to find your voice sitting in front of her, but you manage, somehow.

She just smiles, and tells you with confidence unmatched, “Recently, the organization has grown beyond my expectations. Everyone already puts in so much work and I don’t want to pressure them anymore than they should be. Furthermore, V and Jumin are always praising you for being diligent and hard working, so… I was hoping that you would be willing to help our cause.”

At the mention of V, your gaze shifts towards him. He hasn’t said a word throughout the conversation thus far, and you look at him for reassurance. He still doesn’t say anything, but, just like the girl beside him, he smiles at you as well and you know that you’re doomed. 

You can’t put up a fight, even if you want to.

“…Are you sure that I’m the right person for this?”

“Of course!” 

You know that it’s a thinly-veiled response. The truth is, you and Rika don’t know each other very well. She is the person that V loves, and he is the person that she loves. So even if she doesn’t trust you, she trusts him enough to lend that faith out to a third party. 

It’s the same for you, you tell yourself. Rika is not someone that you are well-acquainted with, but V… V is something else. He is different; he _is_ someone that you would readily extend your grace to — and more. 

But you keep these words to yourself, and nod your head.

“Alright. I’ll join the RFA.”

Against better judgement, you agree to assist the duo in their endeavours, even though regret instantly fills you up as soon as the thought comes to mind. You should have never gotten involved in the first place.

For you see, if you had paid more attention, then you would have seen the warning signs right in front of you.


	4. Maze

The better part of your day that had previously filled a void so profound that it left you incapable of doing much else other than focus on that singular void, has been replaced with an entirely different substance now. Your mornings are jumpstarted with strong and aromatic coffee, a short drive to your workplace, brief morning conversations with your coworkers, then finally, papers for art pieces that need your evaluation. Everything has fallen back into place so easily, as if your absence had not happened at all, as if you had never left the familiar chair and office that you have become accustomed to. 

It is strange to realize that everything has continued so effortlessly, that time has moved on, and yet, you are still in the same place you had been in before. The clock still ticks, but for you, its hands have stopped, frozen in place, many years ago.

Everything is as it should be, familiar and all the same, yet you cannot help but be acutely aware of how different it all is. Your grandfather suggested for you to move on, but the concept has never been something that you’d been able to grasp. Closure is a finale that you have yet to receive, and so, you continue to remain frozen in place, wondering once again that perhaps it is your heart that has changed too much for the unchanging world around you. 

Despite being at work and should otherwise be preoccupied with the work ahead of you, there is still the nagging reminder that it’s all so pointless.

It comes fast; the barest hint of remorse carries with it regret and snowballs into guilt. All at once, you find it difficult to breathe. Your heart races underneath your skin, mind afflicted with scattered thoughts unable to focus on anything in particular except for the misty notions of possibilities. 

Maybe… Just maybe… If you had persisted, the outcome would be different.

Maybe… Just maybe…. If you hadn’t been so ignorant then, then there would be no nightmare shadowing you.

You shake your head, and the action readjusts your eyes to clarity on the sculpture before you. Hand-carved by an up-and-coming local artist, you’d been asked to appraise the piece for an exhibition to be held later this month. It is a beautiful piece with fine detailing, evident of the passion and inspiration from the artist, but you cannot find it within you to admire the piece. Your marred thoughts have overshadowed its beauty, and you settle for a sigh.

It has become increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything, and in the end, your thoughts always return back to _that_.

Still, you cannot live like this. It is frustrating being helpless —being so _aware of that helplessness_ — and knowing that all of your efforts have been for naught.

Promptly, you rise from your seat and inform your assistant that you will be going for a coffee run. 

— 

It’s a flimsy excuse at best, but the atmosphere of being surrounded by people is instantly healing. The walk to the coffee store has cleared your mind of its troubles, but has instead, replaced it with longing and you find yourself fiddling with the phone in your hand.

‘ _How is V? Where is he? Is he doing well?_ ’ You wonder if he has checked his voicemails, and if he knows that you have returned. You consider the idea of calling him, but you know that this too, will be a fruitless attempt.

He won’t answer. He hasn’t before, and he certainly won’t do it now. But perhaps that is for the better, you tell yourself. It… should be fine this way. You… have already gotten used to his absence.

At this notion, you tuck away your phone into your pocket, only minutely aware that your hand lays still against your pants pocket afterwards.

You… should focus on something else, you tell yourself, and so, you lift your head to glance at the menu above you, trying to recall the likes and dislikes of your coworkers. 

The bell above the door chimes moments later, alerting the staff of a new presence, but even when they stand behind you in the waiting line, you don’t seem to notice them at all. When that person says something behind you, it is easy to ignore them. It doesn’t immediately register in your mind that they are talking to you especially since you’re not expecting to run into anyone that you know, but then you hear a repeat of the question. This time, your name follows the question, and you finally turn your head, quelled by vague curiosity. 

In your deepest of hearts, you know that there are only a handful of people who would address you with such endearment, but the connection is absent for the moment.

“It really is you, _nuna_!” the person cheers, and your eyes go wide from the shock. 

Their voice is familiar, so, so familiar, but the appearance is not quite the same as you remember it. In the place of neat brown hair are blond locks, messy and disarrayed in appearance, but so strikingly familiar to someone else who used to have the same shade of blond—

Perhaps sensing your confusion, their cheerful expression dissolves into one of disappointment and they look down sadly.

“You don’t recognize me?” he asks. “You truly forgot about me?”

The more that they speak, the more familiar their voice becomes. His eyes certainly are familiar, but his skin is pallid, with cheeks slightly sunken in, and dark circles underneath his eyes. Surely it cannot be whom you suspect it to be… After all, the last time you had seen him, he had been so... _different _.__

__Hesitantly, you offer your response, “Yoosung?”_ _

__He grins brilliantly, his emotions flip-flopping from one to another, and instantly brightens. “You _do _remember me!”___ _

____“Your hair…” You mutter, reaching out to the bright locks, but pause before contact, and retract your hand._ _ _ _

____Yoosung laughs sheepishly, and rubs the back of his head as he begins to understand your confusion. “Oh, thats why you didn’t recognize me… I dyed my hair a while ago, you see—“_ _ _ _

____“It looks like Rika’s.”_ _ _ _

____The poor girl is dead, but it is still hard to different between truth and fiction when the lines have become flurry and you can see her standing in front of you, replacing the living boy who stands before you._ _ _ _

____You don’t realize your blunder until you watch his eyes falter, and Yoosung stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and looks down._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, I—“_ _ _ _

____“It’s alright!” he immediately protests, smile returning to his face. But this time, it is no longer as brilliant; a poor, flimsy replacement for the earlier ones— “At least someone still remembers her, right?”_ _ _ _

____You gasp at his response, startled by the agony in his voice._ _ _ _

____Somewhere in that agony, you hear the sound of your own heartache, and you wonder if in Heaven, Rika knows just how much of a hold she has on all of you. That even when she’s dead, she still haunts all of you? And you wonder if she is truly able to rest in peace, knowing all of this._ _ _ _

____You’re not sure how you manage to return to the gallery. Something like an excuse of having to return to work might’ve been said, but you know that in the end, it had just been a coward’s way out._ _ _ _

____You collapse onto your chair with shaky legs, heartbeat jumping out of your chest, and you finally notice the sweat collected on your forehead and the tremble in your hands._ _ _ _

____“You’re back already?” your secretary asks, stepping into your office briefly._ _ _ _

____“I—I forgot my wallet.” Your look away, ignoring the uneasy feeling of lying to her, and ask, “Is there something that I can help you with, Kyungri?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh… I just came to check on you,” she says. “You ran in here so fast and… Actually, you look like you’d just seen a ghost. Are you alright?”_ _ _ _

____You might as well have seen one, you think, but you reply, “I’m fine, thank you.”_ _ _ _

____“Alright… Do you need me to pick up some coffee instead?”_ _ _ _

____“Y-yes. Please, thank you.”_ _ _ _

____Kyungri nods her head and leaves after confirming your order._ _ _ _

____Now that you are left alone, you are once again unable to focus on what is in front of you. Instead, your mind replays the image of blond hair and bright eyes and you shake in your seat._ _ _ _

____Rika is dead, but you still have so many things you want to ask her._ _ _ _

____Right now, you want to know if she realizes the importance of her being._ _ _ _

____‘ _Do you know, Rika? You’re dead and gone, but it’s hell on earth for some of us._ ’_ _ _ _

____Looking back on it, you surmise that she must know. Whether alive or dead, she must know exactly how loved and adored she still is._ _ _ _

____That afternoon, you stay later than intended. Although it is difficult to do so at first, you still manage to busy yourself with work for the rest of the day. You’re only reminded of how late it has gotten when Kyungri announces her departure, and when even the security guard has come to check on you._ _ _ _

____By the time the janitor comes around, you decide that you should go home and get some rest. You finally set aside your work and pack up your belongings, not forgetting to stuff some portfolios inside of your bag as well. You won’t be doing much at home anyway, and you’ve been away from the gallery for a long time now. It would prove efficient to get some work done at home. Anything and all else is currently discarded from your mind as you focus on getting yourself through the little steps first, the next of which consists of returning home to take a nice, long bath._ _ _ _

____The lights flicker on as you enter your house, rooms brightening with every step you take. Everything is as it should be, even as you make your way to your bedroom on the upper level. Once you reach your bed, you casually toss your work bag onto it and start to rummage through your closet for clothes to change into._ _ _ _

____You pay little mind to anything else, but, it is this lack of attention that becomes your mistake. With your back turned around to the closet space, you don’t notice what goes on behind you, even as a shadow grows larger and larger on the floor. It mingles with yours, nearly encompassing the entirety of your own, but still, they remain undetected until you hear the sound of a tick beside you._ _ _ _

____You whirl around swiftly only to be pushed back further into your closet. Their forearm presses against your lungs and rams you against the wall while their other hand positions the gun to the side of your head. You gasp from the force of the impact as your head hits the wall painfully._ _ _ _

____Barely a second passes for you to collect yourself and focus on the stranger when he already starts to speak, demanding harshly into your ear as they press the end of the gun deeper into the side of your head, “Where’s the ledger?”_ _ _ _

____—_ _ _ _

_____**Years earlier.** _ _ _ _ _

____“Thank you for letting me come over so early.”_ _ _ _

____“No, it’s fine. Thank you for coming all this way,” V says, holding the door open for you to enter in. “Did you eat yet? Would you like anything to drink?”_ _ _ _

____You look up, meeting his soft gaze. It’s barely 8AM and even though he doesn’t say that he minds, you know that he’s still tired judging by his clothes. He’s still in casual attire; joggers and a crewneck t-shirt, with his hair unkempt._ _ _ _

____You laugh when you see the stitchings of his shirt, inside out, and shake your head. “Don’t worry about me, Jihyun. I’m sorry to come at such an early time, but I actually have to head to work soon so I can’t stay for long.” Saying this, you finally slip on the pair of indoor slippers available for guests, and gesture to his shirt. “It’s inside out.”_ _ _ _

____When you point out his mistake, V looks surprised. His pale cheeks flush and he runs a hand through his hair._ _ _ _

____“Sorry, I actually just woke up about ten minutes ago.”_ _ _ _

____You shake your head again, unbothered by the mistake, and step further into the house. “Is Rika awake yet?”_ _ _ _

____“She’s just getting ready,” he says. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? I’m just about to make some tea. I still have some of that _hwang-cha_ that you gave me.”_ _ _ _

____“Next time,” you promise. “I’ll bring you some _daechu-cha_ that my uncle gave me.”_ _ _ _

____Hearing this, Jihyun brightens instantly. “It’s unfortunate that you have to go to work, but I’ll look forward to our tea date.”_ _ _ _

____You know that his use of date is harmless, but for a moment, you feel a skip in your heart beat. Even after all this time, your feelings for Jihyun have still not changed, but you know better than to act on them. Therefore, you hold your tongue and say nothing in response, only a small smile to make up for the lack of words._ _ _ _

____If he knew just how happy his words made you, would he be delighted? Or would he be repulsed at how shameless you are for pining over a taken man?_ _ _ _

____When you finally reach his living room, you find Rika descending from the stairs. You raise your hand to greet her with a sincere smile, but hesitate when you digest in her appearance._ _ _ _

____This does not look like the Rika you know. Her hair might be the same, long and cascading down her back in waves, but her expression is dull, dazed and barely there. She seems to have gotten even thinner in such a short time, too. You’re only a few feet away from her but Rika still doesn’t seem to notice you until V calls out her name and she looks up after a few seconds._ _ _ _

____“Oh,” she mutters. “You’re here.”_ _ _ _

____You nod your head and greet her politely, wondering where the girl once so radiant has disappeared to. “Are you alright, Rika?” you ask, concerned for her._ _ _ _

____You knew that she took a leave of absence due to health matters, but the details her health had never been divulged to the group. Seeing her now, you wonder how sickly she truly is._ _ _ _

____“I’m alright,” she says, after a few seconds. “Don’t worry about me. My doctor says that I’ll get well soon.”_ _ _ _

____It’s hard to believe her when even Rika doesn’t seem to believe her own words, but you say nothing and help her take a seat on the living room couch. Meanwhile, V excuses himself to reverse his shirt and to prepare tea._ _ _ _

____“And how are you today?” she asks you, once you’ve settled in._ _ _ _

____You tell her about your work schedule, how you’re busy preparing for an upcoming exhibition hosted by the Literati Society. It’ll be their anniversary soon, and your grandfather has high expectations for the party. Pressed by time, you don’t tell her too much about the party, and tell her about your true intention on seeing her that day._ _ _ _

____“Actually, I was reviewing our clientele list the other day and something has been bothering me…” You start, watching her expression carefully. “I know that we have a number of organizations that we offset funds to regularly, and in order to maintain good relations with them, I had wanted to express further thanks towards them with food provisions. During my review, I found that most of them checked out except for one. I could not find any information on it online, and no one seemed to know about it either. When I asked Jaehee about it, she said that this organization was recommended by you. What exactly is ‘Mint Eye’?”_ _ _ _

____At the mention of the company, Rika’s eyes widen. It’s only a slight reaction, however, before her gaze softens and a peaceful smile appears on her lips. “Mint Eye is a facility dedicated to healing people.”_ _ _ _

____You can’t hide the frown this time; her response is vague, and perhaps realizing this, she starts to explain more clearly._ _ _ _

____“They’re a newly founded facility, so I don’t expect that you’ll be able to find much information about them. They tend to do things quietly, too, but I can assure you that they have good intentions. Mint Eye caters to those who are ill in the heart and mind… Actually, it is run by someone I know and… they have helped me, too. We don’t have too many of those facilities in Korea, so I hope you understand why I want to keep supporting them. ”_ _ _ _

____This confession comes as a surprise to you. You knew that Rika had been sick, but you hadn’t expected it to be beyond something physical._ _ _ _

____Rather than holding your tongue, you find that you truly don’t know how to respond._ _ _ _

____As if to persuade you further, she says, “I can provide you some of their pamphlets and arrange a meeting for you with their director, if you would like.”_ _ _ _

____Compared to the dimmed expression of earlier, there is brightness alighting Rika’s face. She genuinely believes in this group, and you’ve been told that Rika has a good judgement on people…_ _ _ _

____Above all, it is clear that Rika is asking you to trust her._ _ _ _

____You decide that this is enough for you. You don’t want to know any further._ _ _ _

____“That’s not necessary,” you tell her. “If you trust them, then that’s all that’s needed. I’ll make sure that the food venues cater to them as well.” You hesitate, but then continue, “Rika… I hope this doesn’t cause any misunderstandings between us; I don’t mean to question you and your judgement. I was only concerned because I couldn’t find anything about them—”_ _ _ _

____“No, it’s good that you’re doing your research on them,” she says. “It means that you care enough about this job that you don’t want others to be taken advantage of.”_ _ _ _

____You’re not sure how accurate her words are, but, you keep your mouth shut._ _ _ _

____The two of you chat for a bit longer when Jihyun returns a few minutes later with freshly brewed tea, and you finally excuse yourself to head to work. They offer to see you out the door, but you decline their offer._ _ _ _

____Just as you get into your car and start it up, your phone rings. It is Secretary Park on the other line, and you promptly answer the call._ _ _ _

____“I’ve done what you asked me to do,” he says. “It’s true that there’s no information to be found about that company online, but, after checking with Minister Oh, he confirmed that a health facility by the name of Mint Eye does indeed exist. It had only been registered two years ago, and their list of patients isn’t very large, but they’re legitimate. They specialize in treating long-term mental illnesses.”_ _ _ _

____The information is the same as what Rika told you, so when Secretary Park says that he will send you his collected information, you tell him not to. There’s no point to it, in the end. You hadn’t wanted to be involved in the first place, and knowing too much would only counteract that._ _ _ _

____After all, you’re only a temporary fixture in the RFA._ _ _ _

____You finish the call and finally drive off, but as you do so, you catch a glimpse of V’s fading house in your rearview mirror and recall Rika’s words to you._ _ _ _

____“ _It means that you care enough about this job that you don’t want others to be taken advantage of._ ”_ _ _ _

____It’s not that you’re heartless; you consider the cause to be very important. But, you’re not a martyr. If you had to choose between those you care about and strangers, then you would always choose your companions._ _ _ _

____Sometimes, that consideration for your loved ones also meant not saying a thing when you should._ _ _ _

____At least, that’s what you thought at the time._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] hwangcha is yellow tea similar to oolong or black tea depending on who makes it.   
> [2] daechu-cha is jujube tea, often prepped with pine nuts and dried jujubes. 
> 
> i feel like jihyun would like (loose leaf) tea with (leaf, fruit) remnants still inside of them.


End file.
